


The Things We Left Unsaid

by anneapocalypse



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, M/M, Misunderstandings, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: When you can't ask the questions that matter, you aren't going to get the answers you want.THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 THROUGH EPISODE 6.





	The Things We Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> After re-watching Episode 6, I couldn't stop thinking about the way Simmons just stands and stares as Grif walks away.
> 
> Contains a brief allusion to Grif and Simmons hooking up during the Temple of Procreation incident. It's not discussed in any detail, but for our purposes here it was completely consensual, in case that's a concern. They're just really bad at Feelings.

The only sound inside Red Base is the sound of the TV. Some Chorus sitcom, Simmons thinks—one the kids over there used to talk about. As he steps inside, he hears the crinkle of a bag of chips.

Grif’s out of armor. Already. That was fast. Gray sweatpants and his favorite orange t-shirt with some sports logo that was already so faded Simmons never bothered too hard trying to read it. For some reason, he wishes he had. Grif’s facing the TV, slouched on the sofa with the chip bag in his lap so Simmons can’t get a good look and for some stupid reason, he just really wishes he knew what Grif’s stupid shirt said.

“Grif,” he says.

Grif grunts, shoving a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Grif, wait. Can’t we talk about—”

"Tell me to wait,” Grif mumbles with his mouth full. “You're the one who's leaving."

"But..."

"But nothing, Simmons. Absolutely nothing. Because that's what you said back there. Nothing."

Simmons finds himself wringing his hands trying to stop them from shaking. Trying to figure out the right thing to say, like _Sarge_ always does or like _Wash_ always does, the thing that gets people to _move_ and do what they’re _supposed_ to do and makes things _work_ again and he hates this, he hates never knowing what to say and never getting it right. Hates how it finally happened and then they couldn’t even talk about it afterward, hates that they keep on pretending it never happened except when the others want to pick on them for it. Hates that it’s nothing but a joke now. Hates how he can’t make himself ask the real question, the one chewing up his insides right now, _When you said you didn’t like any of us, did you really mean all of—_

"Don't you think we should at least talk about...” _the thing we haven’t talked about for ten fucking months_  “...you know... what happened? Back on Chorus?"

Grif shrugs. "Nope. Not really."

Simmons _feels_ himself deflate. Like his chest cavity is collapsing in on itself. "I... oh."

"Nope. I don't think we have anything to talk about. If you couldn't open your mouth earlier, what the fuck are you gonna say to me now?"

Simmons opens his mouth, and closes it, without a sound.

"Yeah, that's right. I know it’s too damn much to ask for you stand up to Sarge, but the fucking Blues? You stood right there and let Tucker call me selfish. You let Wash call me lazy. You didn't say a fucking thing, just like always."

"I didn't even take a side! I—"

"Yes, you fucking did. You took one by saying _nothing,_ because that's what you _always_ do. Because at the end of the day, kissing ass is all you care about. God forbid you stick your neck out for someone else. Which, you know. Whatever. I just want to be clear about where we stand." Grif sighs, shifts back on the couch. "Or sit."

"Grif..." Simmons says, agape. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Yeah, I _don't_ care. Seriously. Go on your mission. Get Church back. Then we can have four team leaders around here for you to suck up to. Sure you'll love that."

He turns up the TV volume, and Simmons backs out of the room, a tightness in his throat and his face burning, feeling like he’s been kicked in the stomach.

Just as he steps outside, something happens on the TV, and Grif laughs.

Somehow that’s the worst part of all.


End file.
